


Room for The Two of Us

by cynosure_phrases



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arguing, Explicit Language, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Multiple, Pining Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sort Of, simon goes off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-14 14:13:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15390507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynosure_phrases/pseuds/cynosure_phrases
Summary: And Snow, brilliant supernova Snow, just leans to me as he smiles. “See,” he whispers even quieter. He prods his finger into my cheek and sends me spiraling. I’m smiling. Smiling. “This Baz doesn’t kill me for sayin’ jack shit.”“’M not gonna kill you, Snow,” I mumble, my hands finding themselves on his knees. Thighs. They slid down to his thighs, and now he’s pinker in the cheeks than before, but laughing. He’s laughing so much. I want to implode.-The bathtub of their shared bathroom is quite large; it’s deep enough to comfortably fit two people, and if you shift just right around the spout, you can sit face to face with relative comfort. The boys find something special in there, making it seemingly the only place where they can stand each other.





	1. Dive Into My Universe

**Author's Note:**

> I'd just like to thank ravenclawbaz from tumblr/rosebudbois on archive for betaing this because honestly, this would probably be a shitty fic without her. Also her encouragements made sure that I didn't change the plot at the end of every chapter. Thank you <3

**BAZ**

 

            Simon Snow getting drunk in our porcelain tub wasn’t quite the first thing I’d imagined for this evening.

 

            I suppose I expect the usual; Snow sleeping with his bloody mouth open and limbs sprawled out like a starfish. I definitely do not expect to hear the soft echo of a giggle, and I do not expect to push open the half askew door to find such a boy with a bottle of smuggled booze in his hand. No dilute, no mixer, just cheap vodka.

 

            Something must be wrong. Drinking the closest thing humanly ingestible to hand sanitizer alone is concerning, to say the least, but it’s especially unnerving when it comes to a kid who doesn’t seem to be much of a drinker.

 

            Nonetheless, there he is. All the disheveled-looking 80kg of him (rough estimate; maybe more, but he’s lost weight since last year) taking back mouthfuls. His hair’s a mess and he’s still fully clothed in uniform, but he’s piss drunk already, singing the bloody anthem (it’s more like a slurring of semi-coherent words, which he only begins once he sees me).

 

            “Goooddd save our gracious,” snort, “Queeeen! Looong live our nooooooble Queen,” giggle, “God save our Queen!”

 

            Without meaning to, a smile breaks as I close the door. I slip it into a sneer. He doesn’t even notice. “Feeling patriotic, Snow?”

 

            Snow giggles and he glows like a supernova; sparks of magic shoot out of him, buzzing around our heads. “’M greetin’ the Queen, aren’t I?” He bursts into a fit of snorts and giggles, his cheeks a rosy pink as he shoots his head back over the edge of the tub, sending his curls tossing back with them.

 

            I shift my weight a little, trying to decide whether or not to leave him there or spell away the bottle--because Crowley knows it isn’t good for him to get like this--or I decide it could be fun. Or important. I can’t choose which I’d want to stay for.

 

            No need to decide, apparently, since Snow is deciding for me. He’s sitting up fully, his hair tossing with him. What a git. A gorgeous git. “C’mere. ‘Ave some. You’re like a fuckin’ board, and it’s comfy in here. Loosen up, pretty boy.” _Did he just call me pretty boy?_ Crowley, he did. He’s smirking to all hell and pulling his legs to his chest so I can sit with him, and I find myself _actually_ doing it. Sitting across from him, taking the bottle from him and drinking some. And he’s not stopping me, but yet, encouraging me.

 

            It tastes like you’d imagine the drink of choice to fuck up a sad teen boy would taste like. It’s like swallowing a live bomb.

 

            And off he goes, grinning some wicked grin as I set it between us, clanking against the smooth tub. We need a bathmat (if only The Mage wasn’t so cheap). I suppose I was expecting something much different; Snow either drunken strangling me or drunken kissing me, but instead he’s humming random tunes swapped together in his head. “Oops I Did It Again” mixed with “Careless Whisper”. A charmer, this one is.

 

            “D’d y’know,” Snow starts, sitting forward between us. He reeks like vodka and scones. I think he may have managed to sneak a few in under his shirt; I see crumbs. Or maybe those are from earlier. (Slob).

 

           He squints, blinking like I kicked dust in his eyes (again). For a solid second, I’m sure he’s going to puke, but instead he sits back, looking at the ceiling. His legs push out, resting around me. The only thing he managed to take off was his shoes, and he’s wearing socks with holes in the pinkie toe. Disaster. “Fuck. Forgot.”

 

            I can’t help but snort and take another drink. He is _pissed_. I guess I’ll be pissed too, soon enough.

 

            Tonight, I’ve developed a new drinking game; drink every time Snow’s an idiot (or when I want to kiss him, which usually coincide).

 

            Between him prodding me with his big toe, to him explaining why he thinks tabby cats probably have magic, I’m wrecked in 20 minutes. I can’t count how much I’ve downed of this bottle. Enough to send me spinning.

 

            And that’s exactly what I’ve done; spun onto Snow. I’m nose-diving into his universe, and my ship doesn’t have controls. I’m giggling, smiling and worst of all, blushing. Snows got me blushing like a madman.

 

            I am a madman.

 

            Snow’s made me a madman.

 

            He nudges his toe into my side again, snatching back the bottle and taking a drink, cringing once he’s done. _Beginner_. “Why’d my girlfriend like you?” He mumbles, his eyes fixated on a particular spot on the ceiling. It’s some crack that’s been there for at least a hundred years, and if Watford’s still standing, it’ll be there for the next couple hundred.

 

            I roll my eyes. He must feel it.

 

            “She isn’t my girlfriend,” he corrects, his eyes shutting. “She… she was meant t’be, but you’re so posh an’ pretty and _oh my, lemme step in and take this and that and ohh my look at me and my posh hair and pretty bullshit_.”

 

            “Pretty bullshit?”

 

            He chortles. I’d kill to hear that again.

 

            “You gonna marry ‘er then?” he says. He’s barely holding his head up to look at me before dropping it back again. “Go off. Have vampire babies.” He giggles, holding his stomach as he turns forward. “How does a vampire dick work, ay Bazzy?”

 

            I’m blushing harder. _Want to see?_ “Not my type,” I let out a little softer than planned as my fingers brush his, reaching to grab the bottle back. _Want to see a vampire dick? I’d let you. I’d fucking let you, Snow. It works just fucking fine, thank you._

 

            He stares at me for a minute, like he can read my mind. _Read my fucking mind, Snow. I dare you. I dare you to fucking hear me now._

 

            He can’t read minds. He can barely read, but I let him try, and that brilliant fucking mouth of his breaks out into a forbidden smile and giggles. _Of course._ “Of course,” his voice echoes coincidentally. I tense. I release. He’s back onto the Agatha thing, not the reading my mind thing. Shit, if Snow could read minds, something would’ve happened by now. I would’ve been six feet under by fifth year.

 

            “Is this what it’s all about? The petit wonder?” I mock after watching him wallow, sitting up more. My knees awkwardly knock into Snow’s. He doesn’t move. “This drinking? Pathetic.”

 

            He half manages a nasty look. It’s meant to be meaner, but it feels soft. He’s so soft; he’s so painfully soft that when he smiles again, I’m sinking into the pillows of his aura.

 

            “It’stupid,” he lets out. Fuck. “I dunno if I loved her. I love… I love scones. And butter.” His smile is a galaxy.

 

             Simon Snow, I could get this fucked-up drunk on your smile alone.

 

             I practically am. I dove into your universe, but here we are. In the tub. Your big toe nuzzled under my shirt (you told me my skin’s cold). Your hand resting on my knee (“Why’d’you only wear fancy pants?”). When you lurch forward, your hair tumbles with you. I catch you because I don’t know what else to do. I hold your head and your soft, _soft_ cheeks crease in my hands. You’re bursting again, spreading into a galaxy between my fingers.

 

**SIMON**

 

            I trust Baz with my life. I want him to have it.

 

            I can’t feel my mind. I feel the buzz of the fluorescent light bulbs. I feel the itch of my torn boxers (right at the waistband). I feel the chilled skin of Baz’s side against my toe and now my cheeks as I smile up at him. I feel him.

 

            I feel him really here for the first time since he’s been back.

 

            I wanted him back so bad, to know that he wasn’t just fucking off somewhere, leaving me with everything from last year so that I can’t help but drink. I’ve been drinking since he didn’t show up, since the visiting.

 

            And now here he is, his cold skin against mine. He’s grounding me.

 

            He’s holding my head. Let him snap my neck.

 

            I’ll drink more until he does. He can wash away my blood here, if he rips out my heart still-beating.

 

            Baz can end me, and it’d be fine. After losing Agatha, I’m not quite sure what I’m going to do after this bullshit is over, so why not end me now? I won’t get a white picket fence like I thought I wanted, and I won’t have shit elsewise. I have Penny to nag me, but she’ll be in America with Micah.

 

            And I’ll be here, and I guess so will Baz.

 

            Once everything’s over, he’ll have the proper moment to kill me. Fuck it, he has the proper moment right now.

 

            He isn’t going to, though. He’s smiling back. He giggles, and I feel like I’m going to puke.

 

            I swallow. Nope, not gonna puke. He just makes my stomach feel weird when he’s actually smiling. So I smile at him more and close my eyes, humming again.

 

            His chuckle is deep. I never knew that before, but Lord, it's deep. I feel myself grin to it, head bobbing up to face him. “Y’don’t laugh so often,” my words escape as a whisper. Maybe a shout. I don’t know.

 

            He opens his mouth to say something, cocking a bloody eyebrow.

 

            “M hungry,” I cut off, leaning back against the curve of the tub. Baz looks a little disappointed, but doesn’t continue with whatever smug shit he was going to say. I think. I can’t tell; he’s like a puppet. He’s got one face and to move it, it takes 30 strings and someone skilled behind them.

 

            I don’t know what to do with puppets.

 

            “Clever, Snow. Most intelligent thing you’ve said in an hour.” I feel his smile.

 

            I wonder if his lips taste like his magic. An old fire stove, like the one at Ebb’s. Or a campfire.

 

            Penny says it feels different than that. _“He’s more like a wildfire.”_

 

            Wait—why am I thinking about his lips?

 

            Oh shit, it’s because he’s smiling. He’s _still_ smiling.

 

            His heads back against the faucet, tipped back into a grin after he takes a drink.

 

            I wonder what his hair feels like.

 

            Before I even rethink how gay I sound (I sound really fucking gay), I reach across to feel it. Baz’s nose scrunches and he sticks out his tongue. _Merlin, he’s bloody plastered._

 

            My fingers roll a little bit of his hair, pinching and gently stroking. It’s silky, like he does a deep condition twice a week. What a prick. I like it. I keep touching it, my hands finding their ways around, ruffling it all up. If Baz wasn’t mentally checked out at this point, he might just punch me, but now he’s wrinkling his nose up at me, his eyes closed. Is he humming? No, I think that’s me. Or maybe both of us.

 

            Whatever’s happening, Baz isn’t killing me. That’s pretty fucking cool.

 

            I stop playing with his hair because I’m bored, I guess. Baz goes back to drinking, and we swap it once, giggle at each other, then again.

 

            He looks at me sideways, like I’m a fucking disaster. He’s right, I am. Fucking hell, I started drinking because of him, and now look at me; my legs are half wrapped around him and we’re swapping a bottle of shit vodka I snuck in.

 

            “What’s going on, Snow?”

 

            “S’nothing,” I reply, setting the bottle on the floor. _Bollocks it’s nothing, but I’ll be damned if I tell Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch that I’m fucked up because I’m jealous of him._

 

**BAZ**

 

            While the room is spinning, Snow isn’t. He’s nearly crying, but doesn’t seem to even notice. Merlin and Morgana, is he going to bawl? I don’t know if I can take Snow crying on me.

 

            But he doesn’t. Not yet, at least. He covers his face with his palms before letting them drop. Snow’s eyes trail up from my left hand to my face, studying me. “Why don’t you ‘urt me anymore?” He asks. It’s more of a whisper; a wisp of a sentence. Barely a question, but still a loaded one in its insignificance. Why’d he ask it?

 

            “Because it’s not worth it anymore,” I reply, pulling a leg closer to my chest. Not a real lie. “It’ll be a big battle in the end.”

 

            And he _laughs_. It’s not like his giggles before; this time, Snow sounds sad. “I don’t wanna fight you, Baz,” he snorts out after a second of me staring at him obliviously.

 

            I am fucking oblivious. “I… I’m…”

 

            “I wanna… I wanna stay like this,” he drops to a whisper, but this one’s more of a secretive one. Like someone else is listening, but he wants it just for us. _Fucking hell, I love him so much._ “All th’ fightin’s’not fun. I like bathtub Baz.” _I like Bathtub Baz, too, Simon._ “Bathtub Baz lets me touch ‘is bloody pretty boy hair. He’s cool.”

 

            I can’t help but snort because yes, he is right. Simon Snow is bloody right about something; I’m cool. I’m chilled. I’m a goddamn freezer-burnt lemon, Snow. Bitter, ice cold, no-good, and probably undesirable.

 

            And Snow, brilliant supernova Snow, just leans to me as he smiles. “See,” he whispers even quieter. He prods his finger into my cheek and sends me spiraling. I’m smiling. _Smiling_. “This Baz doesn’t kill me for sayin’ _jack shit_.”

 

            “’M not gonna kill you, Snow,” I mumble, my hands finding themselves on his knees. Thighs. They slid down to his thighs, and now he’s pinker in the cheeks than before, but laughing. He’s laughing so much. I want to implode.

 

**SIMON**

 

            “You’re cold,” I manage out, grinning. His hands are freezing. That’s all that’s on my mind; Baz’s freezing cold hands.

 

**BAZ**

 

            He didn’t tell me to stop. So I find bare skin (his hands. Keep it civil, Basilton). He feels down the length of my fingers, he feels the palms of my hands. He’s looking at me with wonder and I’m drinking it in. I’m a million miles away; I’m floating.

 

            Something I’d never expected from Snow was that his magic trickles out of him when he doesn’t have self-control. Suppose I should have expected it; this is how it was when we were little. First year made it hard to concentrate with just raw energy streaming around me, but growing up, he learned how to control it better. But now? He’s too pissed to even keep his (barely manageable) composure in check, so his magic is floating around us. I’m breathing it in, drinking it up. I’m getting wasted on his magic cloud more than the booze. Snow’s going to give me magic poisoning.

 

            Now here he is, touching me as intimately as ever, and I’m practically shivering. He’s giving me his time, his attention, and I never want him to stop.

 

**SIMON**

 

            He’s so soft. So… not other-Baz.

 

            I never want to stop.

 

**BAZ**

 

            I’m going to lose it if I don’t control myself. I need something to ground me away from this completely unrealistic reality. “Pass me the bottle, Snow,” I let out, my eyes drifting up to meet his. He sort of blinks back, not really confused, but something. (Disappointed? Can’t be.) Snow pulls his hands back slowly, still burning my palms the moment he leaves them, and grabs the bottle off the floor. I take a swig. It feels like proper death.

 

            Snow just watches me at this point.  I think he’s had more than enough. _I’ve_ had more than enough, but I can’t stop now. Snow’s touching me and I want to forget it too.

 

            I want to forget as much as he will.

 

            I want to forget what he’s doing now that I’m putting the bottle down. He’s leaning into me. Not… not to kiss, or to kill, but just to rest. He’s got his torso slouched on me, face planted onto my chest and curls tickling my chin.

 

            _Merlin_.

 

            I shift.

 

            He shifts with me.

 

            I’m fucked.

 

            I’m royally and absolutely fucked. He’s going to fall asleep like this, and my legs definitely cannot carry us back, even if I wanted to drag him to his bed, so I prod him a few times until he finally lifts his face. He’s piss drunk and absolutely gorgeous. I’m piss drunk and absolutely stupid. “Simon, move yourself so you’re not lying like a bloody numpty.”

 

            I feel his smile come off in a wave of magic. His eyes are closed as he hums back, “You’re barely a space heater.”

 

            No fucking shit, Snow. “I’ll’help you,” I slur, looping my arms under his armpits and half dragging him up to me. “Turn… Turn it, Snow.”

 

            “Mm. No.”

 

            I huff. He’s piss drunk, gorgeous, and _also_ an idiot. “Fine.”

 

            He shifts to his side, slotting between my legs, and resting his forehead on my shoulder. I would spell cushioning to the tub, but I’m not sure I can find the counter-spell. **As you were** would probably work. But oh, oh—it doesn’t matter. The bloody numpty on my lap is half asleep already, his hand finding its way to my stomach, fingers lacing under my shirt.

 

            I shiver.

 

            Snow’s incoherent. I’m long gone and absolutely fucked already, but I’m not going to haul off and kiss this little drunken loaf’s hair like I want to.

 

            If he’s sober, maybe. If he was sober, I’d be mouthing over his dick at this point. I’m a goddamn loose cannon; if Snow even winked at me I’d drop to my knees. I’ve got nothing else to live for at this point (if I can even die), so my desperation _feels_ validated.

 

            But I’m not. I’m draping my arms around Snow and closing my eyes. My back aches against the hard tub, but Snow’s got his nose pressed against my neck and I wouldn’t trade this moment for the world.

 

            And so I sleep, and I sleep _so_ comfortably.

 

* * *

 

 

**SIMON**

 

            Where the fuck am I?

 

            Okay. Bathroom. I’m in the bathtub. I’m holding onto… I’m holding onto Baz. My hand’s in Baz’s shirt (?). He’s holding me. What the _fuck_ did I miss last night?

 

            Okay, okay. Retracing steps. I got into a half fight with Agatha and Penny about some shit (Baz), then I got drunk in the bathroom.

 

            And now I’m pressed against my enemy. Well good goddamn morning.

 

            Now I’m not saying it feels _awful_ , despite Baz not being the warmest person (literally), but waking up in his arms is confusing, to say the least. Concerning.

 

            I unpeel myself from him, careful not to wake him as I stumble out of the tub. As I head out, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and _Merlin and Morgana is that what I look like_? I resemble the second coming of death, and I don’t even remember keeping on my uniform. I don’t remember half the shit from anything. I wouldn’t even remember what Penny got pissed about if it weren’t for the fact that I apparently fell asleep on him.

 

            I guess that means it’s safe to go to breakfast? Sure.

 

            After throwing on clothes and aggressively swirling mouthwash in my mouth (I smell like I drank half a bottle of vodka), I drag myself to breakfast.

 

            Penny doesn’t seem phased by my mess of an appearance. Typical of her, and I suppose it’s typical of me too, but I want to beg her for answers. _Why did I wake up in my roommate’s arms? What lead to that, Penn?_ Instead, I repress it. Time to eat and time to repress, like I do with everything.

 

**BAZ**

 

            I wake up without Snow against me, and I’m half convinced it was a dream.

 

            I go down to breakfast after making myself up and there’s Snow, eating breakfast like normal. My thumping headache says it was real, but maybe it wasn’t.

 

            Maybe it was just another dream.


	2. I'm The Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If it were a month ago, I’d say that Snow’s magnet repels mine, but in this moment, Snow’s force is pushed into mine. He’s latched, and you’d need to spell a table between us to get him off.
> 
> You’d need to spell me dead to get him away from me, even with his dead eyes and the tentative touches of his fingertips against my face. Simon Snow is safe with me.
> 
> -  
>  Snow's gone off again and nobody else is there to fix it but Baz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, mega-thanks to ravenclawbaz/rosebudbois for betaing this because god. i'm a 2 am writer.
> 
> enjoy!

  **BAZ**

 

            The room is smoking.

 

            Not just Snow’s magic smoking. Literal smoke is pouring out of the windows, spilling around into the sky and causing the other students to rush out of Mummers House, screeching about Snow because _everyone_ knows that if there’s a fire, Snow’s behind it.

 

            I spot it halfway across campus, and I break into a blind sprint. My ears are ringing, and I don’t even feel the time between when I’m on the lawn and when I’m standing in our room, the cloud burning my eyes and causing me to hack. It’s magic tangled with the smoke now.

 

            Snow went off. He’s somewhere in here, sending his magic off in bullets.

 

            Where else is he in the whole floor but the bathroom, specifically the bathtub, curled away from the curtain as it’s billowing up flames. He’s choking out spells through sobs, too incoherent for any of them to actually land. Simon Snow is sobbing in the bathtub, unable to put out a burning shower curtain.

 

            Two things strike me: one, I’m in shock of his absolute idiocy. Two, I’m going to have to save him from burning alive (from a _shower curtain_ ).

 

            In a flash, I make my way through the cloudy bathroom and turn on the shower head, disregarding Snow sitting fully clothed, surrounded by smoke and his own magic. I put him and the shower curtain out--although it’s only half a curtain now-- and leave the water running, standing over him as it rains and Snow, the fireball he is, turns to me and nearly shouts.

 

            Except he doesn’t. He cries. He bursts out sobbing. It’s an ugly, angry sob, and despite the fact that I should be the reason he’s pissed off currently, I’m nearly positive that he’s not crying about me. Without missing a beat, I find myself swiftly sitting with him. Full uniform, water still running, and just… staring at him silently. Staring at Snow sobbing and unraveling. It’s otherworldly to watch the Chosen One break down. He’s 12 again, wet sleeves wiping against damp cheeks, and I reach out to hold them because I can’t leave him like this. Not after he went off; it’s something that’s been there since fifth year. I make sure he’s okay after he goes off.

 

            No matter what, no matter how much he thinks I hate him, I’m always here when he goes off. I don’t call him names for the rest of the day, I leave a scone on his desk. I reserve that day to Snow’s private time; I spend more time hunting, I spend more time away from him.

 

            But I can’t just piss off; not now. Not when Snow’s crying, not when I’m holding him. Crowley, I’m pressed up against him, the shower head sputtering out a lukewarm stream onto our heads and I just cling. I don’t even let go when he whispers “Baz” because until he tells me to stop, I’m never stopping.

 

**SIMON**

 

            I never want him to stop.

 

**BAZ**

 

            My hand finds its way up to Snow’s cheek and rests there, my thumb starting to rub side to side under his eye socket. He takes it, his chest heaving.

 

            Without moving him, I procure my wand from my pocket and point it at him. I’ve only known this spell to work on people who, in utter terror, are in an absolutely safe place. It causes the caster to bind themselves to the current location for however long the person being casted upon needs them; until they feel safe. “ **Safe and sound** ,” I utter, eyes flickering over him and head spinning. He relaxes, trembling less now as he raises his eyes to meet mine. Silently, he reaches his arm over me and shuts off the spout, arm lingering around me. For a split second, I hope he’ll say something; tell me off for this. _Make me feel bloody normal, Snow, because we both know fairly damn well that this is not normal._

 

            But he doesn’t.

 

            His arm slowly rests down onto my shoulder, my soaked blazer letting out a soft _squish_ under him. He smiles just a little before sniffling, eyes traveling to meet his arm where it lays on me. I can’t tell whether he’s crying or if his cheeks are soaked, so I wipe away the wetness with a swipe and Snow leans into it.

 

            We’re silent.

 

            My thumb’s wet again after a few seconds. He’s crying.

 

**SIMON**

 

            My chest sputters a few times as I race to catch my breath, but the feeling of Baz’s hand is the only thing that feels real, and that’s all that matters. Baz is real, and he’s right here. He’s not making some snarky comment, telling me bullshit I already know, because _yes, Baz, I know I can’t spit out an everyday spell with ease._

 

            Instead, he’s pulling me closer, whispering reassurance, but for the life of me I cannot pry my eyes open. He’s so real that he feels fake; his voice is a million miles away, but his hand is right here.

 

            So I grab his other one.

 

            Then I let go and grab his shirt.

 

            Then I collapse into him. I’m just a moon being sucked into his black hole, and his pull is incomparable.

 

            He must really want me to join him into oblivion because there he is, filling my ankles with rocks as his hand slips onto the nape of my neck, fingertips teasing the hair trailing there. His other hand slots against my lower back, right where the Lego brick snaps into place and he’s my fitting part. He’s the ground and I’m tied down.

 

            And I couldn’t ask for better.

 

            Maybe because it couldn’t get better.

 

            Because it’s always been Baz, hasn’t it? He just stays and stays and taunts me but he _stays_.

 

            I open my eyes and he’s there. He’s staying put.

 

**BAZ**

 

            If it weren’t for the fact that I can feel his blood pulsing, I’d be half convinced that Snow is dead in my arms. He’s gone utterly stiff after curling into me, and I’m half sure I killed him (somehow). That is, until he opens his eyes and I can finally breathe again. Breathe in, breathe out.

 

            I match him, hand still tangled in his fingers and I truly feel like I’ve got a child in my arms. A full grown, 18 year old child, plopped on my lap.

 

            Frankly, this might’ve been a better experience if it weren’t for the fact that we’re both absolutely soaked, but moving would ruin everything going on here, whatever that everything is.

 

            He raises his head and looks at me.

 

            Snow’s eyes are like marbles; glassy, dead-set, and probably empty inside.

 

            They say that Helen of Troy was so beautiful that she caused the Trojan War. Until I saw Simon, I thought that was just heterosexual bullshit, but watching Snow cry makes me feel like I could fight an entire war barehanded for him.

 

            I just hold him instead, pulling him against my wet skin because Crowley, if I can’t actually tell Snow that I’d murder _anyone_ for him, I’ll make him feel it, because that’s where I’m at. Face pressed against his dripping hair, my spare arm locked against his waist and pulling him in closer, like I’m forcing our faces together like two magnets.

 

            If it were a month ago, I’d say that Snow’s magnet repels mine, but in this moment, Snow’s force is pushed into mine. He’s latched, and you’d need to spell a table between us to get him off.

 

            You’d need to spell me dead to get him away from me, even with his dead eyes and the tentative touches of his fingertips against my face. Simon Snow is safe with me.

 

            “Did I go off? Like… really go off go off?” He questions, voice like our ceiling; cracked.

 

            I snort. “Snow, I had to put you out. It’s safe to say you did.”

 

            His weight shifts against me as he positions himself, practically straddling my lap. I should push him off.

 

            I don’t. I don’t even breathe as his hands rest on my shoulders, then my lapels, then he tries to pull of my blazer. My fucking school blazer. “What do you want, Snow?” I whisper, breath hitching.

 

            “I don’t want you wet, you’ll catch a cold,” Snow mumbles, his eyes lowered to his hands, traveling around to try to remove my damp coverings. I would smile if it didn’t settle in my chest like a rock.

 

            “It’s okay, Simon, it’s fine. I’m okay like this.”

 

            He doesn’t seem to notice I called him Simon.

 

**SIMON**

 

            He called me Simon.

 

**BAZ**

 

            I let my hands travel to his jumper hem, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I can get dry clothes,” I manage flatly. It’s safe to leave him alone, at least right now.

 

            But he shakes his head. “Don’t let go of me,” he lets out.

 

            So I don’t.

 

**SIMON**

 

            He called me Simon.

 

            He called me Simon and he’s staying.

 

            Baz sets both palms against my back as I rest both arms around his neck, settling us into an awfully compromising situation.

 

            Suppose I don’t care anymore. I’m not snogging him, I’m just holding him. _I’m holding a boy. I’m holding Baz to me, and he’s staying, and Merlin he’s looking at me so soft and I’m so comfortable._ I’m shivering a little, but I’ll never be more comfortable than I am right now.

 

            I press closer, because now I know I can. I let my head drop to his shoulder. I let myself relax.

 

            For once in a very long time, I know I’m truly safe.

 

**BAZ**

 

            It takes me a while before I break the silence, my left hand tracing up and down Snow’s spine. It’s an eternity in domestic bliss, but something has to be said before I go mental. “What set you off?”

 

            He huffs, his lips tightening into a line before he puffs out his breath. “The Mage.” _Fuck The Mage._ “He’s… he tried to push me to leave Watford early. Told me there’d be a safe house for me. Pushed me for it again. Didn’t want to fucking hear it, but I can’t tell anybody because they’ll think I’m an idiot for wanting to stay in Watford, but I don’t want to fucking go. I don’t want to _fucking_ go; I want to take classes that are too hard for me and confusing because it won’t suck nearly as much as facing the real fucking world—“

 

            My palm rests on Simon’s chest and I wince without meaning to. It settled on his cross. I don’t move it. “You’re working yourself up again, Snow.”

 

            He softens at the edges, and I feel him loosen his deathly grip on my shoulders. “Sorry.” He readjusts, watching me carefully, like I might snap at a moment’s notice. _I’d never snap on you, Snow; at least not in this sort of situation. Merlin, I cast **Safe and sound** and you’re worried I’m going to hurt you? You’re as thick as a brick._

 

            Slowly, I raise my hands to his, taking them off my chest. “I think it’s time to leave the tub. You’re shivering.”

 

            Reluctantly, he nods, damp curls falling into his eyes as he throws his gaze back down.

 

            “I’m not carrying you.” My voice tries to snap back into its rigid shape, but I just can’t. Not with Snow like a broken toy. I watched Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer enough as a child to know that leaving a broken toy is more than immoral, and definitely below me.

 

            I suppose that’s a fancy way of saying that I carried him back to the room, half dripping wet, arms around my neck and body hoisted up bridal style. I set him down in the middle of the room, turning away to grab my own clothes and rushing into the bathroom before he can change in front of me.

 

            If I had a fucking pulse, I’d be checking it. I don’t understand anything that’s happening and whether or not I can control the situation. (And if I _can_ control it, I better fix it before Snow comes to his senses and punches me out, or something of the like.) Steadily, I throw on dry pajamas, fixing my hair in the mirror before stepping back out, mostly composed. And there he is, Snow, still dripping wet and just standing there. If I had half a brain and a full heart, I’d dress him myself.

 

            Once again, a fancy way of saying that I’m dressing him.

 

**SIMON**

 

            I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look Baz in the eyes again after this, but frankly, I’m too tired, too angry, just too fucking done. If I have to even do anything, I might go off again.

 

            So there’s Baz, staring daggers at me, like he’s a new bloody person as compared to ten minutes ago, when he was holding me. All I expect him is to tell me to piss off. Except he doesn’t.

 

            He sighs and mumbles something like “You’re helpless, Snow” (I agree with you, Baz), and starts unbuttoning my shirt. I watch his plaster-grey hands unpeel the shirt from my skin, tossing it onto my chair before looking off to his side as he unbuttons my trousers, giving them a good yank down.

 

**BAZ**

 

            This is the worst wet dream I’ve ever had.

 

**SIMON**

 

            Carefully, I set my hand on his shoulder to steady myself, stepping out of the soaked trousers. Then, he looks at me. He looks me in the eyes because of course, I’m standing here in soaking pants and my enemy (?) is helping me undress and of course, _of course,_ he cocks a bloody eyebrow. “Do I need to fully disrobe you, Snow? Am I taking off your pants?”

 

            I feel myself swallow. I think it’s audible. “N-no, just… turn away. I’ve got it.”

 

**BAZ**

 

            Aleister Crowley, I can see his fucking dick.

 

            I’m too gay for this.

 

            The fabric of his pants is _way too_ thin and I can clearly see him and _fucking Merlin and Morgana I can see his dick in full effect_. I _have_ to turn away now, and I do because I’m a fucking wreck and if I look at him for even a moment longer we’ll have a bigger issue than Snow’s mental breakdown.

 

            And so here I am, counting the seconds until I can turn around.I think of something unappealing--girls, breasts, numpties, The Mage--waiting until Snow _finally_ says I can turn around, and he’s fully dressed himself in some flannel sweats and a t-shirt.

           

            At times, I curse my self-control because if I didn’t have any, I’d be snogging the life out of Snow. Instead, here we are, staring at each other for at least a minute before he _sniffles_ again, wiping his eyes on his shirt.

 

            And there I am, weak, stepping up to him. Maybe he’s weaker, because he grabs my wrists, fingers wrapping tightly around my arms, nails digging into my skin. It’s not meant to hurt me;he’s grounding himself, so I let him. I’ll be his rock tonight because I know, come tomorrow morning, he’ll be back to his usual Snow.

 

            But now? Snow’s holding me. He’s trying to speak, but he chokes out little words that just echo his previous statements.

 

            I’m going to punch The fucking Mage. For Simon Snow, I’ll take out the Mage.

 

            And I tell him that. “If The Mage—“

 

            “Don’t.”

 

            “If he even—“

 

            “It’s treason.”

 

            “I don’t care.”

 

            “ _Don’t, Baz_.”

 

            He looks hurt; I don’t. I feel hurt.

           

            “He’s not taking you from Watford. I’ll have to kill you before that happens.”

 

            Snow smiles a little, nails loosening their grip on my skin. His fingertips smooth over the ridges they caused. I don’t want them to fade. “You’re not going to kill me.”

 

            “I don’t know where you got that idea.”

 

            He keeps smoothing my skin, eyes fixed on the marks he left. _It won’t bruise, Snow. You know why._ “Because you’d be too bored,” he utters, the smile stretching further across his skin. I can’t help but snort, hands gripping onto his forearms in response.

 

            “Maybe I’ll have to wait until we’re both 80. I’ll end you then, deal? Nice and long life to fight.”

           

            He looks up. It’s a challenge. “Make it 100.”

 

            “With the way you eat butter? You’ll barely make it to 80, Snow.”

 

            Snow tries to look offended, but he’s still smiling. I’d kiss that smile off of him. “I’m going to make it well past 100. Isn’t that just a benefit of being the Chosen One?”

 

            “I’m not quite sure that’s how the prophecy works.”

 

            “You’re not an oracle.”

 

            “Are you sure? I live in a tower…”

 

            He smiles more, laughing. Keep laughing, Snow. _I want you to stay that way forever_. “Oy, piss off.” _I won’t, but I don’t think you’re serious. Seal it with a kiss, Snow. Tell me to fuck off with a kiss._ But he won’t kiss me, and I suppose that’s okay, because Simon Snow is smiling at me and that’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *announcer voice* but that's not all, folks
> 
> if y'all haven't noticed, i'm using the space metaphors as chapter titles; i'm gonna tease by leaving the title of chapter 3 here: He's the Milky Way
> 
> i'm probably posting chapter 3 tomorrow because i'm weak and this is my precious baby so i want it shared with the world. feel free to leave a kudos and comment because it honestly just makes my heart go aaa whenever i read your comments! thank you <3


	3. He's The Milky Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want you to have what you want.” I’m fucking weak.
> 
> “I want you to be happy.” He’s so oblivious.
> 
> Or maybe I’m oblivious. “Is… is this what you want?” No, I’m not oblivious, I’m pathetic. I’m ridiculous. I should just be letting him touch me, his hand is right there, but I stopped him because I need to. I need what he needs, I want what he wants. If he wants me gone, I’m gone.
> 
> -
> 
> One bathtub, two angry boys, and some sexual tension that's been unresolved for a little too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, the biggest thank you to ravenclawbaz/rosebudbois for betaing! no joke, i wrote this in one night and messaged her at about 3 am saying i was done, so i'm thankful to have someone checking over my sleepless rambling. <3

**SIMON**

 

            “Leave it, Baz,” passes through my lips as he bends over my shoulder, looking at the scab running up my arm. The dragon left it there. It doesn’t really hurt, and it wasn’t bad at all, it just looks nasty. Maybe it’s his vampire senses, or he’s being a dick. Either way, he’s bloody intrusive and won’t piss off. Not after the truce, and not since the holidays are sneaking up. Apparently, when Baz wants shit done, he’s _more_ controlling than usual. It’s like I can’t tell him to piss off because of the truce.

 

            So here he is, hovering, tutting.

 

            “What do you want, Baz?”

 

            “Nothing, you’re just shit at taking care of yourself.”

 

            “And you’re just a smug arse.”

 

            He sneers, rolling his eyes. _I’m going to lose it._ “Clever one, Snow. How’d you think of that one? Where was it hidden in your appalling vocabulary?”

 

            I whip my body around, staring up at him. My blood is starting to boil, set on a warming burner. It’s been too much; I don’t have plans for the Holidays, so I’m stuck here. Baz has been _too_ nice since we got drunk, so whenever he’s back to the usual Baz, I want to scream. He hasn’t brought it up either, despite bringing up _everything_ else that ever possibly happens. Any fuck up, anything about me, he’ll taunt. But when I start crying? He’ll lock his arms around me, telling me everything I need to hear. I just want to fucking understand.

 

           “We have a truce, Baz. Just leave it.”

 

            “And you’re not taking care of yourself. If you die, how can we figure this out completely?”

 

            “Oh, you’re such a selfish fucking prick, Baz!” I snap, not really thinking about it. I don’t know if I’m thinking at all. “You are absolutely insufferable, so leave it, alright? Piss off!”

 

            If I wasn’t smart enough to know Baz, I’d say he’s hurt, but not this Baz. Not the Baz I know.

 

            Maybe this is the Baz I know, because he stalks closer. “Take that back, Snow,” he hisses, slate grey eyes staring deep into mine. Maybe he’s fully, officially snapped.

 

            I stand my ground. “Take it back? Take what back? How far back should I take it? The night I found you in the Mage’s office? The night you found me wasted off my arse and you didn’t act like yourself? What the fuck are you plotting? What gives you the right?”

 

            He doesn’t even blink. _If you don’t punch me first, I’m sending you flying._

 

**BAZ**

 

            “Take it back, Snow,” I snarl, stepping even closer. He stumbles back a tad, but his eyes are locked on mine. Even if Snow fell out a window, he wouldn’t break eye contact. Suppose that’s the downside of being pea-brained. Or that’s the entirety of being so idiotic; you can’t figure out when to back down and when to be brave.

 

            “I’m not taking back shit, Baz!” He shouts, his cheeks growing red. “Not until you stop being a prick and grow up! **Just leave me alone!** ”

 

            The magic hits me in the face, leaving a raw shock in the room. A cup tumbles off my desk, sending my pens scattering and loose papers whip around. My hands shake, my stomach churns. _I’m going to fucking cry. Brilliant._ “Fine,” I spit, turning sharply and slamming myself into the bathroom. I jam the door and glance around.

 

            While it would be absolutely lovely to throw myself out a window, I decide against that since if I _don’t_ die, the clean-up will be awful and the healing will be boring. On top of that, if I die now, I don’t get any satisfaction post-mortem of Snow being blamed for it.

 

            So I just sit in the tub, my palms pressing into my eye socket as my breath catches in my throat.

 

            If I were Snow, I’d be erupting right now, letting my magic shoot everywhere because everything’s too bloody much. Except, I’m not Snow. I can’t let out my overall frustrations through explosions and leave others to clean up the debris.

 

            So I do what other people do and I cry.

 

            I curl up and just let it out as quietly as possible because frankly, I’m not even sad, I’m just pissed beyond reason. I’m pissed because I can’t control how Snow feels about me. I’m pissed because Snow got the Visiting and I missed it. I missed my mum. I’m pissed because I’m a vampire. I’m pissed because nothing ever goes my way, does it? Oh look here, perfect pretty Baz, who has _nothing_ happen to him ever. He lives in a beautiful mansion with a pretty family, and has his future set out for him! Perfect little Baz! It’s not like I’m queer, a vampire, motherless, and in hopelessly in love with the one person on the face of this earth who definitely would not be with me.

 

            Perfect little pretty boy Basilton has the perfect little pretty boy life.

 

            I hear the door handle jiggle and I pick up my shampoo, chucking it at the door. “Didn’t you want me to piss off?” I shout, fists trembling. _Fuck off, Snow, fuck off, Snow, fuck off!_

 

            It’s silent for a few beats, then the wood creaks.

 

            “Take your own advice, Snow!”

 

            Another creak. “Baz, I…”

 

            “Leave it! Piss off fully! I don’t need you, and the truce isn’t worth—“

 

            He manages the door open, standing there in concern. I didn’t even hear a spell, but the scent of his magic fills the room, hanging heavy and swirling around my head. Slowly, he steps down onto the tile, his feet muffled by his socks. He’s in pajamas now, but I’m not.

 

            I’m ready to give up, and he’s not.

 

            I watch him steadily lower himself into the tub opposite of me, tentatively reaching out and placing a hand on my knee. I flinch, and he pulls away. “Don’t,” I utter.

 

            “Don’t what, Baz?” He sounds annoyed, but not enough to leave. I want him pissed enough to leave.

 

            “Don’t try to comfort me like I’m some child. I’m not a child. I have more intellect than you ever will and you’re wasting your time and energy. Why do you try to chase me around? You follow me like a puppy, then the moment we’re not trying to kill each other, you let yourself go all soft for no explained reason? If anyone should piss off, Snow, it should be—“

 

            His lips are against mine. I stare at him, blinking as he stays. One beat, he’s still there. Two beats, his hands fly up to hold mine. Three beats, I’m closing my eyes, feeling Snow’s chest beat rapidly against my hollow cave of a heart. He’s pressing against me again, lacing his fingers into mine, pressing into me, pressing me back against the curve of the tub as his lips stay locked to mine.

 

            If Snow’s a galaxy, he’s bursting. He’s the Milky Way, and I’m just the solar system, held within his grasp and never-endingly clung to him. He’s sent us to the stars before, and I just crave more from him.

 

            So I take it.

 

            I take it all.

 

            Snow’s right, I’m so fucking greedy. I’m a selfish prick, because I’m taking all I want from him.

 

            I rake my fingers through his hair, pulling at little strands of his curls as I throw my legs around his waist and physically beg for him to be closer. He gives it to me.

 

            If I’m a vacuum, then Snow is the willing clump of dust. If I want him, he’s mine. Right here, right now.

 

            It’s a little awkward at first, since I’ve never went off and kissed someone before (and I’m assuming he’s never kissed a bloke), but we slot together eventually, his hands finding their way under my shirt (“Just unbutton it, Snow” “Mmph”). My thighs lock Snow’s hips against mine as they find a steady beat of rocking and a little bit of grinding, mostly on Snow’s part. Maybe I’m too stunned, or maybe Snow’s got me hypnotized, but he’s doing most of the groping and grabbing. He’s feeling everything he can get his hands on (“No no, _yes_ , Snow, there”), but my mouth is pulling him closer, kissing him like he’s the first meal I’ve ever had. He’s the full roast beef dinner. He’s an entire bear’s worth of blood. He’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

 

            He grinds against me more, a hand trailing again and groping my dick delicately, causing me to emit out a quiet squeak. _Fuck, that’s a new noise_. “Snow, I--!” He’s already unbuttoning me, kissing at my neck as I pull back. “Simon, you don’t have to—“

 

            He’s staring at me, glassy blue eyes right in my face. I want to swim in the pool of his mind and whatever emptiness is going on inside there. “Do you want me to stop?” He whispers, chest pumping heavily. _He needs to breathe_.

 

            “I want you to have what you want.” I’m fucking weak.

 

            “I want you to be happy.” He’s so oblivious.

 

            Or maybe I’m oblivious. “Is… is this what _you_ want?” No, I’m not oblivious, I’m pathetic. I’m ridiculous. I should just be letting him touch me, his hand is right there, but I stopped him because _I_ need to. I need what he needs, I want what he wants. If he wants me gone, I’m gone.

 

            “I want you to stop acting like you hate me all the time, Baz,” he replies softly, eyes looking all around my face. He’s trying to read me, but we both know he can’t even read himself, nonetheless someone else. “You’ll smile at me like you’ve never smiled before, then you piss off and get all… old Baz again. Then I’m crying and you fucking hold me in a tub, but you act like it never happens? I just want to stop being confused, and you’re so confusing.” _I’m confusing? Snow, your hands halfway in my pants and the way we got here was because you were angry at me._ “I… I kissed you because I hoped that this would just sort of… work. You’d stop being angry if I kissed you.”

 

            “Well you definitely did something,” I snort. He looks hurt, so I kiss his cheek because I can’t leave Snow hurt. Not ever. “I… it worked. I’m not angry.” He stares at me blankly as I study his labyrinth of a face, thinking for a beat before letting myself smile because Crowley, his hair’s a mess and _I_ did that.

 

            He smiles back, leaning in slightly. I can’t help but meet him, sweetly pressing my lips up. He’s a box of Christmas sweets and I’ll eat him up.

 

**SIMON**

 

            Frankly, I didn’t expect this to go so well.

 

            In all honesty, I don’t expect most of my plans to go well. They have a much higher rate of working than one would think, which is surprising, given how impulsive the majority of them are.

 

            Except I don’t really know what to do now. I didn’t plan this far. I don’t think I ever _planned_ to have my hand down Baz’s pants, but here I am.

 

            It answers one question; vampires _can_ get hard.

 

            Despite that revelation, it raises many more questions that I don’t exactly want to answer, starting with “Am I gay?” Closely followed by “Is Baz gay?” Followed by “Does Baz have feelings for me?” Finishing with “What do I do now that I have a hand that’s on a dick that’s _not_ mine?”

 

            I suppose I can answer the majority of these in a string of questions.

 

            “So… uh… does this… erm… mean you like blokes?”

 

            Baz sighs and rolls his eyes, shifting his weight against me; _not_ pulling away. His legs are still _tightly_ locked around my waist. “No, Snow, I absolutely _love_ women. Especially Angela!”

 

            “Agatha—you don’t have to be a prick. Merlin, just say yes or no.”

 

            He smirks, pressing a kiss to my cheek. I think that was a mole. “Yes, Snow. I’m queer. I’m into blokes. Very much so, actually.” _Okay yeah, good. That answers one question._

 

            I don’t know where I’m going with this. Of course I can’t just ask “Hey, buddy, truce… roommate… do you like me? This? You in?” but I sort of have to ask before I get to the last point because if I’m going to reach _any_ deeper in his pants, I need to figure something out.

 

            “Hey, is it cool that I’m touching your dick? Can I touch it more?” Smooth.

 

**BAZ**

 

            If it wasn’t for the fact that I’m hopelessly in love with this idiot, I might have lost it right there. Instead, I just blink at him, trying to figure out what exactly he means. Okay, yes, we’re sitting here, I’m hard in his hand and he’s asking if it’s _cool?_ Is he daft?

 

            “Snow, what are you asking?”

 

            “Well, uh, you’re… and you kissed me back, but you didn’t initiate it _originally_ … and… I just… I need to make sure…”

 

            I want to shut him up, so I kiss him again, which apparently works much better than fighting him. I start pulling him against me, but then pull back abruptly. “Cross,” I breathe. He takes it off, tossing it to the furthest corner of the room, before looking up to meet my eyes. He starts to push my button down off my shoulders, and I nod for him to keep going, shifting to push myself up, and pressing against him fully.

 

            I would offer to take this to a bed—any bed—except I’m afraid that’d scare him away. _Too domestic for us, huh, Snow?_ So here we are, Snow undressing me under the harsh lighting and awkward fitting of our shared bathtub. Somehow, it couldn’t be more romantic.

 

            He fiddles with pulling off my trousers, his cheeks pink and stumbling over every other word; a slurry of “Sorry, fuck… ah… fuck” and “I don’t… uh… how do… fuck…” every few seconds as he pulls away, sliding the fabric off my legs. And there I am, laying in just my pants, staring up at Simon Snow as he looks back, wide-eyed and flushed pink.

 

            “Oh come here,” I whisper, sliding my hands around his back and slipping them under his waistband, causing him to gasp. I raise an eyebrow and he shoots me a look of shock as he blushes. _Good to know._

 

            I yank him forward, kissing him softly, and then kissing his cheek three times. I work my way down his neck, pressing open mouthed kisses to each of his moles, then his collarbone. “Go for it, Snow,” I breathe, kissing his neck again.

 

            And he _does_.

 

**SIMON**

            Fucking hell, how many times has Baz done this with other blokes?

 

            No. Nope. That is something I’m _not_ going to be thinking about. I’m not going to think about Baz locking himself up in some closet, getting his—

 

            I need to stop, especially since Baz is urging _me, right now,_ to do whatever the hell I want to do to him. And I’m going to do exactly that.

 

            My hand sneaks back down, wrapping around him through his pants and stroking once, eliciting a moan from him. There’s something new; if his chuckle was deep, his moan is just a pure rumble.

 

            This is _definitely_ much different than making out with Agatha. Of course we never did get this far; I felt her up one Christmas and we both got bored. But now? Baz is practically melting under me and doing something I’d never expect Baz, the Baz I know, to do. He’s begging.

 

             “P-Please, Simon,” he chokes out onto my neck, forcing his hips up to my hand as I continue to stroke.

 

              And then I stop. It’s abrupt, it’s teasing, and I hear something that sounds like a goddamn symphony; Baz whining. It’s high pitched, but also slightly muffled, so I investigate.

 

              Something else I’ve learned about vampires; their fangs pop when they’re in the moment.

 

              If I wasn’t rutting against Baz, I might’ve actually taken a second to admire them and figure it out, but Merlin, I’m too far gone.

 

              I go to kiss his neck, trailing my tongue over his skin before sucking. (Can I even leave a love bite on someone who doesn’t really have blood?) (Scratch that, his dick is throbbing in my palm. There’s definitely blood _somewhere_ in him). He keeps gasping, rocking up in desperation as I keep my gentle, unmoving grip on him. “Simon, I—“ he whimpers, digging his nails into my shoulders.

           

            And I don’t give it to him.

 

**BAZ**

 

            Snow better stop teasing me or else I’m going to come in my pants, then we both have to deal with mild disappointment and an awkward clothing change.

 

            I wish I could vocalize how much I need this, how much I need _him_ , and if I was coherent I could say it in three languages. But here I am, practically mewling under his grip, because he’s all I’ve ever wanted and if he wants to tease me, I have no power to stop him. At least, I don’t have power over his hand.

 

            Or do I?

 

            I trail a hand down Snow’s shirt, staring up at him with as much innocence as I can muster, and I push my hand into his pants, taking hold of his cock and stroking it slowly.

 

           What is that look? Betrayal? Amazement?

 

            I smirk, because I know I’ve got him.

 

            This is almost like fighting, but so much better, because now he’s kissing me. He’s taking my cock out and kissing me so forcefully that I’m half afraid I’ll bruise. Crowley, I want him to bruise me. I want everything he’s doing; I’ve wanted it for so long.

 

            I’ve been wanting for him to take me out of my pants, to grab both of us while swatting away my hand, which both coincidentally found their way to Snow’s forearms, and are now gripping onto him. I’ve been wanting him to stroke us together as I fuck into his hand, coming onto his chest and him coming onto mine soon after.

 

            I’ve been _craving_ to see him lost in breath, post-orgasm, grinning at me like an idiot who can barely form a sentence because all he wants to say is my name. And that’s what he moaned, closing his eyes and throwing his head back as I watched his beautiful, bronze curls tossing with him.

 

            And then I grab his hair, because now I can.

 

            And I pull him into a kiss, because now I can.

 

            And I feel his chest, his shoulder, I kiss his moles and lick sweat off his chest. (Because I’m a bloody mess and now I _get_ to). I relax into his arms, because for once in my life, I can.

 

**SIMON**

 

            I never expected Baz to be the cuddle-in-the-afterglow sort of bloke.

 

            Frankly, it isn’t something I thought of much at all--another repressed though, I guess-- but when it comes to it, I’m still shocked. I expected him to just shove me off and clean himself up. Instead, he’s rested his head in the nook of my neck and keeps just breathing me in. It’s calming; he’s much gentler up close, except for the fangs. And the cold skin part. He’s much gentler besides the vampire part, but that’s fine. Fuck, it’s cool, I guess. It’s nice that he didn’t bite me, too. I’m not surprised about that bit, though. I think.

 

            I try not to think, but here I am. Thinking.

 

            I’m thinking about the way that Baz holds me; about the way that yes, he _definitely_ likes boys. I’m thinking about the fact that I suppose I have to kind of like boys, seeing as I just got off another one _very_ enthusiastically. But that’s a problem for _later_ Simon, not right now Simon.

 

            Now I’m just wondering about the last unanswered question, which a question that isn’t even for me to answer. I can think about it, but saying it out loud is a whole other level.

 

            Honestly, I don’t want to ask if Baz has feelings for me, because that opens up a jammed dam full of questions and I’m not quite ready for that flood. As in, which bed do we sleep in? How do I tell Penny that all that obsessing _may_ have been a good reason?

 

            How do I tell Baz that sometimes, when it’s late, I watch the way the moonlight fills his face, and the way that I don’t exactly hate his half-snores because they’re sort of cute. I can’t choke out a love confession when we’re just laying here, sweaty and barely dressed, cuddling in the afterglow of something that I don’t quite understand, but crave to.

 

            But that’s just it; it’s a love confession. It’s simple. It’s only a few words, but it’s words that I don’t know how to say. Sure, you can _feel_ love, but the moment that a grey-skinned vampire boy pulls you into his lap and tells you he wants you, it’s all melty hearts and googly eyes. It’s not the heavy tax of permanent statements and thinking about your future. It’s quick teen romance.

 

            I guess that’s all I expect. That’s all I’ve ever expected, because that’s the extent of my life. End of teens.

 

            He wants this, so I’ll give it to him. I’ll give him all I have, until there’s no time and nothing left of me to give.

 

            I’ll let him have all of that, because he’s all I’ve ever had that feels real. He’s the only positive right here, right now, and I’m not letting that slip away just yet. Not because my stupid brain wants to tell him some emotional garbage that I’ve been sitting on since he first smiled at me in the bathtub; the night I learned he can _really_ take his alcohol.

 

            But then again, he knows me as me. Stupid Snow.

 

            And that’s what he wanted from me; all of me.

 

            “Baz?” I rasp. I’m a mess.

 

            “Mm?” he hums, still nuzzling into my skin. He kisses my bare neck, sparking a shiver. He needs to keep doing that.

 

            “Nothing. Never mind.”

 

            I feel him smile against me; his mouth opens when he smiles genuinely. It’s cute. “You can’t cut yourself off mid-sentence anymore. Self-preservation is a thing of the past to us.” He’s right.

 

            “I don’t want to sound sappy.”

 

            “You’re entirely a sappy mess, Snow. Tell me.”

 

            I pause, hand levitating over Baz’s hair for a split second. I drop it, feeling the silky flow again. I missed this feeling. “Look, I’m shit at this. I’m shit at everything.”

 

            “While I agree, I don’t see your direct point.”

 

            I close my eyes and take a second to breathe. He doesn’t make this easy, does he?

 

            I can’t be upset, it’s sort of cute. “It’s just… ah… I’m… fuck. Baz, I’m terrible at this relationship stuff, and I don’t know how long until all of the magic world breaks loose and _whatever_ happens with the Humdrum, then what happens when I die, and all that shit.”

 

            “Spit it out, Snow.”

 

            “I want to be your boyfriend, okay?” I mumble, my fingertips stroking through his hair. It’s a little wet from sweat and thoroughly messed. It’s a good look for him. “I… I wanna be _with_ you. I care about you a lot.” My voice disappears slowly, fading with each word. He sits up, but I don’t dare look him in the eyes.

 

            “Oh Snow,” he whispers, “you’re a wreck.”

 

            I’m about to protest (or cry, I don’t know which; it’s been a long day), but I’m cut short by the feeling of cold lips against mine, then butterfly kisses on my cheeks and eyelids. “It’s fine,” his voice rumbles in my ear. “I’m a wreck too, Snow. We can be wrecks together.”

 

            And I laugh, because laughing is the best thing I can do. Laughing makes everything feel better, because he’s right. We’re both wrecks, and I love us for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanna give a big thank you to all of you guys; it's ridiculously encouraging and heartwarming to see all the comments everyone leaves. it encourages me to write more, which i am doing! i already have two fics in mind and i've already been setting chapter outlines for them!
> 
> i'm glad i got to explore a bit with this chapter, since it's been years since writing smut, and i also used a bit of humor because i feel like that's what's needed here. soft humor.
> 
> to be entirely honest, i'm not quite sure if i want to end this just yet. i'm quite latched onto this storyline of them, but this chapter wraps up quite well, therefore it's up to all of you. what do you say, one last chapter of this, for old time's sake?
> 
> UPDATE look at the number of chapters; it'll be a few days, but ay! Be prepared for the real last chapter.


	4. You Take Me to The Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When I attended Watford, the boys would date girls, as they’re supposed to. And they’d marry in roughly as powerful families, with roughly the same amount of magic, give or take a little.” His voice seems to lower but doesn’t tremble in the slightest. “It’s all about keeping the bloodlines pure, isn’t it, Basilton?”
> 
> -
> 
> Christmas Eve dinner at the Pitch manor doesn't quite go as well as one would hope, but the night isn't completely set ablaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, before you start, I want you to know that there's a playlist at the bottom of the fic! It connects to a part of the story in particular and I don't want it listened to before you read the part ;) I can promise, it doesn't disappoint.
> 
> I also wanna say thank you for waiting this long for chapter four; I hope you enjoy it. Big loves!

**BAZ**

 

Snow’s obviously never dressed properly in his life, but he’s a killer in a sharp suit and brushed hair.

 

Thankfully, he let me do that much to it. I offered him some gel and he looked at me like a madman, so I kissed the look off his face. He kissed me back, tasting like hot chocolate and the little peppermint marshmallows he kept sneaking earlier today.

 

He tastes like the excitement of a falsely working heart skipping a beat.

 

He tastes like the knowledge that my father is disappointed in me, but that doesn’t matter. It won’t matter in less than a year, at most, when I drag Snow off somewhere for us to hide from the currently brewing war. We’ll be happy there, and I won’t have to endure the comments about how it’s unnatural that I like men.

 

I’m nothing close to natural with or without my queerness, but that’s not addressed.

 

Bigotry is only fashionable when you’re able to be public about it, I suppose.

 

But I won’t let it stop me; I won’t let it stop my beautiful mess of a boyfriend kiss me in the foyer, snowflakes dusting his hair after I nearly lost it at Nicodemus. I won’t let it stop my sneaking smile as he tells me that he’ll make proper use of my ridiculously large bed that always felt like a sea of untouched satin and silk. It’ll never stop the fact that I’m going to dress my star-shine explosion for the gods for dinner before taking his hand, kissing scarred knuckles and leading him to the table, fingers still keeping an iron-tight grip over his hand.

 

Father’s icicle-sharp eyes follow our pressed palms and matching scents (Snow’s wearing my cologne; his call), stabbing their sharp ends into my chest as I keep a leveled gaze, lips curling into a half-smile. It’s fake. “Holding up the festivities for us? Oh, you truly didn’t have to.”

 

**SIMON**

 

Everyone’s sat at the table, looking like they’re about to meet the bloody Queen. (Maybe they already know the Queen? I wouldn’t be surprised; this house is practically Buckingham Palace, without all the guards) (Maybe Baz is supposed to be the guard?) (Oh, now I _have_ to get him a knockoff hat). Even though it’s the holidays, it’s a ghost town. He has extended family, obviously (probably), but for what’s usually a huge family dinner, it’s just Baz’s step-siblings, his dad, and his step-mum at an awfully dramatic set up, and they’re all dressed to all hell’s length.

 

It’s clear that Baz fits in with the posh attitudes and stature of his family. Makes sense why he was fussing over what shoes I was wearing to dinner, despite the fact that I kept trying to tell him that “ _Baz, it’s indoors. Why do we need shoes?”_ But he got me in them anyway, telling me I look dashing.

He thinks he can call me handsome and it fixes everything. I mean, it usually does, but that doesn’t matter. His regular compliments feel alien, especially given the fact that he’s so particularly soft when he does it that he calls me Simon properly, without a tone of sarcasm.

 

It took some adjusting. That, and he likes kissing. A lot. And everywhere. If I’m even changing my shirt, he’ll find a way to kiss my shoulder before I put the new one on. Can vampires mark their territory? Or is that too much like a werewolf? If vampires _can_ , then I’m going to assume that that is exactly what Baz is trying to do. I think. He tried snogging me in a corridor during one of our last days at Watford before break and I had to spell us invisible so a second year wouldn’t catch us with my hand up the front of his shirt.

 

I _like_ it, though. It feels awfully natural to have Baz on my lap, or his hand pressed against my hand.

 

It feels more natural than most other things I do.

 

Being here, even with his family’s eyes (or, mostly it’s his father’s) staring daggers into us as we sit side by side, close enough to keep our hands locked as dinner begins feels natural.

 

It’s relatively quiet for the first bit. Foods pass around, Baz turns it down (I hold his hand tighter), and everyone eats in what seems to be their own private bubble. Some conversations pop up, like Father Christmas or classes at Watford and how they’re different from Baz’s parent’s day.

 

Which, of course, provokes the conversation of the old days. Baz holds my hand tighter as his father begins to go on.

 

“Back when I attended Watford, it was proper magic families, with proper power.” He looks at me, avoiding to look between us. Baz’s knuckles are a ghostly white as he squeezes the life out of mine. Mr. Grimm continues, glancing at Baz. “When _I_ attended Watford, the boys would date girls, as they’re supposed to. And they’d marry in roughly as powerful families, with roughly the same amount of magic, give or take a little.” His voice seems to lower but doesn’t tremble in the slightest. “It’s all about keeping the bloodlines pure, isn’t it, Basilton?”

 

I can feel his anger bubble up even before I dare sneak a glance at his face. It’s stone cold, as calculating as ever. Then he smiles that venomous smile of his. “The concept of purity is obsolete,” he says slowly, the stiff grin plastered across his face, “if there can’t be an allotment for happiness.”

 

The air is starched rigid as his father shoots a look at our hands before looking back up at Baz’s face, a smile mimicking his with all the intent. “You’re a disappointment to the bloodline.”

 

And that’s where Baz snaps.

 

**BAZ**

 

I barely feel my own body as I untangle my hand from Snow’s, throwing the neatly set out napkin that previously took seat on my lap onto my empty plate as I stand, chair scraping aggressively against the floor. _Good,_ I think as father cringes. _I meant that._  “Excuse me, I’m going to my room. No need to follow, because either way, I’ll still be a disappointing faggot.” I shoot him a lasting grin before stomping off, heading off and slamming the door behind me.

 

**SIMON**

 

I don’t follow him immediately. Partially out of fear, partially out of shock. It takes a few seconds and a few empty, unknowing glances to his family (are they really letting this happen?) before excusing myself nearly silently, pushing my chair in behind me before starting back towards where I saw Baz disappeared off to.

 

In all honesty, I have absolutely no idea where I’m going in this house. It takes a good five minutes of looking for landmarks (a painting, a statue, something) to find even a familiar hallway, then another ten to find Baz’s room.

 

Fortunately, it’s not locked, so I step in to try to find him. At first, I don’t see a sign of him until I notice that his bathroom light is on, flooding out from the crack underneath the door.

 

Silently, I shut the door and make my way over, creaking open the bathroom entrance, and there he is. His jacket is unbuttoned, and he undid a couple more of the buttons on his shirt. His god-awful _indoor_ shoes are thankfully abandoned as he just sprawls back in his ridiculously luxurious bathtub, earbuds in as he listens to god knows what. Whatever it is, it’s nearly deafening, even from here. Heavy base, blasting pump by pump in his ears. I see his head movements go along with it to it, eyes shut and mouth soundlessly following the words. It’s aggressive. He’s aggressive. His lips curl as he silently spits out long phrases, and when it’s just instrumental, his brow furrows as he nods to it. It’s reckless.

 

He is reckless, and I love that. Even with sad smiles and worried tugs at my heart, I know inside me that it’s just Baz being his dramatic self.

 

I walk over, sitting in the tub with my back to him before laying against his chest, taking his hands in mine and kissing them, loose presses of my lips against the knuckles that were earlier holding on for dear life. At first shoots his eyes open to watch me, then he relaxes against me, body shifting to accommodate my mass existing between him and the outside world. He accepts me into his own bubble.

 

“Why’d you pick the bathtub?” I ask as he turns off his music, setting his phone aside. He takes the moment to push my hair back, lips ghosting over my forehead.

 

“Because,” he begins, his voice dipping to a private murmur. “It’s the only place that I know you’re mad enough to look for me in, but nobody else would take the effort to find.”

 

I smile, sinking into him. He’s the ocean, and I’m an anchor, drifting against his current, but sinking to the bottom. He holds me there, arms cradled against mine in a protective clutch. I can’t be swept away, so I just settle against him, letting the world surround us in its allowing embrace.

 

**BAZ**

“Did you know,” Snow fills the air, head lolling back to perch against my shoulder. I steal a few kisses from his cheek. He smiles, continuing, “did you know that-that I thought about you constantly? For years, Baz. _Years._ ”

 

I chuckle against him, trying to refrain myself. It comes out anyway. “I would hope so; we’ve been sharing a room since we were 11, Snow.” He pinches my hand.

 

“Stop being cheeky,” he whispers back, smiling. _Good. Smile._ “I meant… I guess… You know…” Snow exhales slowly; I watch his chest deflate as I rest a hand over his heart. “I followed you around and watched you sleep and… and… fuck, this is embarrassing, so don’t tell anyone, okay?”

 

“Who do I have to tell?” I remind him, undoing his shirt buttons carefully and painstakingly slowly before pressing my fingertips to his skin. Warm; heart pulsing under his skin.

 

He seems to watch my hand as it rests, his head turning to fill his face into my neck. He breathes in. “I _may_ have thought of you while kissing Agatha sometimes,” he mumbles into me. I can _feel_ him blush. “Used to think it was because I was thinking of you going off and doing some shit, or because I was worried about you stealing Agatha way, but I… I guess not? I don’t know. It’s stupid. I would chase after you and _watch you sleep_. Christ, Baz, I was a nutcase. _I’m stupid._ ”

 

My fingertips trace circles around his skin before sliding down a little to let my palm rest. “It’s not stupid at all. Do you know how often I thought of you, Simon?”

 

He shakes his head once. Twice.

 

“I spent the majority of fifth year hating myself and you because I felt like I could never have you. That’s why I essentially went off that year on you; I was hurt. I was angry at myself, I was upset because the world wouldn’t let me have you. You, Simon, are always at the forethoughts of my mind.” I stop, shifting us a little so I can look into his eyes. _They’re perfectly him_. “Have you ever really taken a look at the clear night sky and watched the stars?”

 

Snow shakes his head again, listening intensely.

 

I relax us back again, pulling him close, feeling all his working life pump against my empty body; I don’t mind it at all anymore. Snow has enough life for the two of us. “I used to; mum would tell me how she hung the moon for my father. Even after her death, I’d gaze up and count as many stars as I could before I’d drift off to sleep, dreaming of constellations. I always wanted to be a story in the sky; remembered for eternity. In my dreams, I’d reach up and pluck a star from the sky and keep it close, let it keep me warm. We’d be symbiotic, the star and I.” My lips press to Snow’s head, breathing him in for a second. My star. “You’re a supergiant, Simon. You burn brighter than anything I’ve ever seen, and you burn me from the outside in. I’m just the floating black matter, surrounding your phenomenal pull and I can’t back away, clinging to your existence.

 

“Father told me that holding a star would hurt me, and Crowley, I burn when I hold you, but you’re a sickness that I never want to recover from. I close my eyes are there you are, _my_ match in the dark. I open my eyes and you’re still there, blinding me with your UV rays. Each time you kiss me, you shoot me out into the oblivion of the universe and we dance among the swirling galaxies and the bursting supernovas of your aura. You take me to the stars, Snow, and I breathe in the bursting gas-flames of your life because that’s all I’ve ever wanted; a star in my hands.”

 

He looks up at me like I’ve pulled him out of my pocket, leaving a burst of stardust behind me as he shoots up into my sky in a smile, kissing me and filling my inky-black hole of a life with his sunshine. He lingers, hands shooting into my hair to hold me in place as he kisses me sweetly.

 

Eventually, he lets back, eyes exploring my face. “How long’ve you been working on that one?” he breathes, lips twitching into a grin. I grin back.

 

“A little _too_ long,” I whisper back, a hand resting against his hip. “Much longer that I’d care to admit.”

 

He seals that with a kiss, shutting me up for a good while.

 

**SIMON**

 

He’s so ridiculous.

 

That’s what I love him for.

 

**BAZ**

 

Snow presses an extra kiss against my cheek once he breaks apart, analyzing me. Studying me. I wonder if I’m his favorite book to read.

 

“If all of this,” he waves over us briefly, “never happened, what do you think would’ve happened? Would you have told me?”

 

“Do you want the honest answer?”

 

“I don’t want anything but that.”

 

“Well,” I say, shifting him in against me. “I would’ve probably taken it to the very end. You’d have a swing at me, crash that sword into my chest and then, _then_ I’d finally tell you. I’d let it out at the very end, in a brilliant blaze of glory, and I’d kiss you with my last breath.”

 

He snorts at me. Not the response I wanted, but maybe the response I needed.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.” He kisses my cheek, giggling just the slightest.

 

“No, really, what is it?”

 

“It’s just… so you. Make me suffer after killing you. Last bow, eh?”

 

I grin. I suppose he’s right, it is very in-character of me. “It’s better than never telling you; it needs to be put out there. Life isn’t unlimited, and therefore our thoughts and feelings are limited, too. Human existence is finite. One day, neither of us will exist, and it’s pointless not to let it out before that happens.”

 

His eyes bare a hole into my face, scorching it. I meet them.

 

**SIMON**

 

I can’t help but watch him, heart tugging. He’s right. We’re only here so long, and maybe I’m here much shorter than he is. Maybe we’re both not here for so much longer. “Where do you want to be in three years?” I know my answer; anywhere. Alive somewhere. Alive and holding Baz’s hand.

 

He blinks blankly, staring at me before cocking an eyebrow. Not the expected question, probably. He lowers it after a moment, looking over me. “I’m serious, Baz. I want to know.”

 

Baz clears his throat, seeming to think. “Okay. Alright, I want to be in uni. I want a flat in London. I want a black cat to live there with me, preferably with a ridiculous name like “Muffins”. That flat should have high ceilings and a balcony, and room for a boyfriend to be there with me when he pleases. A golden boyfriend who responds to Snow.”

 

I smile, biting my lip. “I just want to be alive,” I whisper. His eyes flash to mine and I see him flinch in the slightest. He knows what I mean.

 

“ _Merlin_ , Snow, I didn’t mean that we were going so soon. Don't say that sort of shit we’ll be just--“

 

“ _Baz_ ,” I whisper, holding his face and grinning. “It’s not something we can avoid, so we enjoy it now. You said it yourself, we’re limited. So, just kiss me, okay? That’s good enough for me right now. It’s more than good enough; _you’re_ more than good enough.”

 

“I’m not—we need to figure out something, Snow. You’re not going to—“

 

“Human existence is finite,” I echo, eyes darting around his face. He needs to listen. He needs to know. “If we don't make it, or even if it’s just me who doesn't make it out of this year alone, that’s fine with me, because we’re here right now.” _Listen to me, Baz. We’re not in some fantasy world where everything will be all daisies. This will all end one day, and maybe too fast. Listen to me, Baz. Please._

 

**BAZ**

 

He’s acting like I don’t know. That I haven’t woken up every morning since our first morning as “us” thinking about how limited we are. That I don’t trace my fingers around his moles, making constellations on a ticking time-bomb as I stand in the blast-radius.

 

He’s acting like I might step away later to avoid the radiation.

 

I don’t want to.

 

No, it isn't that I don't want to; I can’t.

 

No matter how much he might want me away then, I’ll be superglued to his side. I’ve got him on a fucking leash (not literally; we’re not really that kinky yet) (and I can’t imagine that _Snow_ would be the one on the leash) (now’s not the time for that). I’m with him until it all goes up in blaze, whether it’s glorious or not.

 

And I tell him that.

 

And he stares at me with his big Simon-Snow-Eyes.

 

And he kisses me with that beautiful Simon-Snow-Mouth.

 

And he holds me with his strong Simon-Snow-Arms.

 

And I just hold him, trying to calm myself against him. He’s here, I’m here. We’re here for now, and when he pulls away, I make a quick getaway to his moles, trying to get lost again, trying to get drunk off of him alone, but he holds me back, looking into my eyes. He’s trying to get through, and I’m trying to get out.

 

But I let him in, because he’s always allowed into me.

 

“Can we at least _act_ like happy boyfriends right now?” I crack; I shatter.

 

He’s right there, though, with the glue. “Okay, yes. I’m sorry, yes. We… we... Yeah.” He shifts against me, fingers trailing back to my hair. That’s always where he goes. “We’ll talk about something else. We’ll—“

 

“We’ll fake it?” That was a tad meaner than I meant, but it’s the truth.

 

He looks like I’ve stabbed him, his face dropping the slightest. He knows I’m right. “No.” _No?_

 

“No?”

 

“No. I won’t fake what I’m actually happy about.”

 

I lick my bottom lip. “And what is that, Snow?”

 

“When you confuse me,” he says softly, “I used to hate when you’d confuse me. I didn’t know what to do, and it just made me angry, but I’m happy that I can figure it out now.”

 

_Merlin, Snow._ I bite my lip, stopping a smile. _I never wanted to smile this much. I’m going to get back at you for that one day._

 

_One day, I’m going to make you smile so much that it’ll hurt._

 

“I’m happy that you let me touch your hair.”

 

_My heart strings are pulling, Snow. Please._

 

“I’m happy that you kiss that spot on my neck. I’ve figured it’s a mole by now, and I quite like it.”

 

“Snow…”

 

“I’m _so_ happy, Baz. I’m happier than I could have ever imagined—“

 

“Simon,” I breathe. He shuts up. “You don’t have to…”

 

“I want to. I want you to know, Baz. I want you to know every word, because nothing else matters to me anymore. It’s _because_ we’re limited. I don’t care about anything else anymore. I’ll jump off a fucking cliff if you told me to because you’re all that matters anymore in this fucked up world. I know you _want_ us to be optimistic, but I want us to just exist. I’m so much happier just _existing_ , Baz, so please. Just let us exist.”

 

I’ll give him this. I’ll give him his world. “I…”

 

He smiles, kissing my sentence short. “Look, I know I’m shit at talking, and you’re shit at listening, but I’m trying.”

 

My lips turn up against his, keeping there. He’s right. “You’re right, for once. You are shit at talking.” We kiss again. It’s a sweet peck. “I’m happy about that.” Peck. Peck. “I suppose I’m also happy that we’re existing, love.”

 

He closes his eyes. Peck. Then one sticks, staying as I hold his shoulders.

 

He falls back for air, eyes meeting mine. “Love?”

 

I grin. My cheeks ache. “Love,” I breathe, going back to him for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Baz's (Secret) Angry Playlist (pls excuse my incredibly edgy Spotify username; it was created back when I listened to all this music unironically in middle school): https://open.spotify.com/user/lucifers.fave/playlist/7lBhRQ9bs5tnvAnQCec7z7
> 
> The first song is 1000000% the song that Baz was listening to in the tub.
> 
> I credit this playlist to being the reason this was finally posted because I sort of sat on this fic for a good couple days considering whether or not I wanted it published, but then I shot awake last night and knew I needed to make this playlist because it felt right, so that's why this overall got published. Because I wanted to share Baz's Emo Side.
> 
> Besides that, I hope you enjoyed the fic! This might be the last of this fic, but I have three other prompts queued up to write, each very different and hopefully enjoyable.
> 
> Thank you again, everybody!

**Author's Note:**

> Just for reference, I have the next two chapters already written! I'm just staggering them over the next few days so I'm not publishing a 10,000 word fic in one day aaa but let me know what you think!!! I love reading all your comments and I love all of you! Big thanks for sticking it through to the end of chapter one!


End file.
